Outcomes
by ncfan
Summary: Ten different takes on Gil-Galad's parentage.


This is something I wrote for "I survived First-Age Beleriand" week on Tumblr. Since Gil-Galad has found himself the son/descendant of half the people in the House of Finwë, I decided to do a piece on ten different possible Gil-Galads, son of ten different sets of parents. There are the two commonly accepted canon ones—Fingon and an unnamed wife, and Orodreth and an unnamed wife—and eight others that range in plausibility from "could be canon" and "could absolutely never be canon."

I own nothing.

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**I.**

His father had been so delighted when Fingon himself became a father. Fingon's newborn son was, of course, not Fingolfin's only grandchild, but Turgon's daughter and Aredhel's son both lived in Gondolin, so in some ways it was as though they did not even exist. And besides, it had been such a long time since a new child had been born into their family. Maeglin had been the last, and his birth had gone uncelebrated, unknown, in shadowed places.

Everyone had been rather shocked when Fingon married one of his captains, a nís he remembered skewering Orcs by the dozens in the Dagor Aglareb and whom everyone she did not count as a friend treaded rather lightly around. Honestly, Aithes had been rather surprised when he proposed, and Fingon had been even more surprised when she accepted. She was such a no-nonsense person, and she kept a great deal of her emotions out of her face and manner; Fingon had not even had much of an idea of what she thought of him.

They were not in love. That much was plain to them both. Aithes was loyal to the High Prince as any of his captains would have been. She had continued to serve as his captain even after their wedding, and had been highly reluctant to put down her spear (which, Fingon had to admit, was a ridiculously apropos weapon to go with her name) when it became apparent that she was with child. They were not in love. They were friends, in their own way, in Aithes's subtle, sometimes hard to spot way, but they were not, and Fingon suspected, never would be in love.

It was surprisingly easy to live with.

Fingon had named their child Artanáro, Rodnor in the Sindarin tongue. Aithes had surprised him by giving the baby a decidedly sentimental name, Gil-Galad. _"I was just thinking that his eyes are remarkably bright_," _she murmured, without looking at her husband_. _"Almost as though he was born under the light of the Trees." _

Looking at Artanáro, Fingon thought much the same thing. "You do have quite bright eyes, don't you?" he murmured to the boy with a smile. Being a baby, Artanáro of course could not understand him, and Fingon did not expect him to. Artanáro gave him a gap-toothed smile, and a smile rose to Fingon's lips, accompanied by that familiar warm feeling in his chest. "As bright as the stars; Mother did well to name you as she did."

Artanáro's parents might not have been in love, but they did love their son, and Aithes was a soldier. Above all else, she knew how to obey orders. When, years later, he sent them away, Aithes understood. She was to be their child's mother… and his protector.

Fingon watched disconsolately as they rode away. He prayed that everything would go well wit the impending battle. Somehow, though, he doubted that he would be able to be either father or protector for his son for much longer. He wished that he did not have to send them away.

-0-0-0-

Once, shortly after they were married, Fingon asked Aithes why she had been named the way that she was.

"_I thought it was simply an epithet you had been given." He looked at her uncharacteristically anxiously. Aithes wondered why on earth Fingon would look anxious over such a thing, before deciding that this was probably not something she needed to know the answer to. "But then you said that your Quenya name is Ehtissë. I know that you were born in Aman, and before the Unrest, too. Why would either of your parents give you that name?"_

_Aithes looked at him quite frankly. She had learned, not as Fingon's wife, but as long years and decades and even centuries as one of his captains, that when Fingon was flustered about anything, which admittedly happened quite rarely, it was best simply to be direct. "My father was born by the waters of Cuiviénen. He always said that he did not think it wise for the Noldor to forget where they had come from."_

When she was young, Aithes had borne her name as one would a great burden. She was the Spearwoman, born into peaceful Aman. Her name was an outdated relic of a bygone age, and it marked her as being far too close kin to one of those other relics as well. What use was there for a spearwoman in peaceful Aman? What use was there for a warrior in a place of peace?

That was then. This was now.

Aithes was the Spearwoman, in a world where spears and those who could use them were desperately needed. For many a year she had been Fingon's spear, but in a world where her husband had been killed, it seemed that she would now be their son's.

Aithes had been pleased when Gil-Galad showed an affinity with the weapon that she had been named for. Her little son, her little king, he would need to be strong, but for now, she had the time to teach him.

**II.**

Her husband always fretted about being father to a child born under the Doom. He'd done quite a bit more when Finduilas was born, seeing as she was their first, but when Gil-Galad came into the world, Meresír watched Orodreth express the same worries, if only on a slightly smaller scale.

Meresír had lived among the Noldor long enough to know that the Doom that had apparently been placed upon them by one of the Powers was no laughing matter. It was nothing tangible, nothing she could see and hold in her hands, so perhaps she did not take it quite as seriously as the Noldor she lived among in Minas Tirith did. Meresír had never taken much stock in things that she could not see and touch, you understand. Frankly, if Orodreth was right in his fears that the Doom affected _all _Noldor, even those who had been born in Beleriand and were thus absolutely free of guilt in the Kinslaying or whatever "rebellion" there had been, she could not hold the Powers in high esteem either. It seemed vindictive. Meresír had never had much patience for vindictive people, even if they were supposedly the all-powerful gods of the West.

What had either of her children done to deserve punishment? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The same as their father, they had not been involved in the Kinslaying at Alqualondë. The same as any children born to the Exiles in Beleriand, they had been uninvolved in the "rebellion", so they deserved no arbitrary blame for that, either.

And Meresír could not stand the thought that the little child she held in her arms now could be held responsible for transgressions he did not commit.

When Finduilas was just a little girl, Meresír and Orodreth had sent her to live in Nargothrond with her uncle. In their minds, Minas Tirith was no place to raise a child, being the grim mountain fortress that it was, and Finrod had pressed rather shamelessly for being allowed to care for his niece. Meresír had found herself frankly rather annoyed by it, but Orodreth seemed relieved that their firstborn would have somewhere more welcoming than Minas Tirith to grow up.

So Meresír could not be anything more than a transient part of her daughter's life as she grew to adulthood. There were no words for how this galled her, how it hurt her. She could not leave Orodreth alone in the mountains, not when she had promised that she would stand at his side and help him. But neither had she wanted to watch from afar as her daughter grew up in a distant court. Finrod treated Finduilas with the highest honor, treated her as his heir, but this was not enough for a mother's heart. She had not wanted for her and her daughter to be little better than strangers to one another.

It would be different with her son. Gil-Galad was his father's heir, and thus would have to stay in Minas Tirith, at his father's side, no matter how forbidding a fortress it might be. Meresír would keep her son at her side, and under her watch, no Doom would ever befall him.

**III.**

Maglor had always strived to raise his son to be a better person than he was. He felt that he owed his child nothing less. Gil-Galad deserved to grow to be a better person than his father had been, he who had walked into his Oath and into Kinslaying because his father was doing it, and not given a second thought to the rightness of these things beyond the fact that the rest of his family was doing it. Gil-Galad deserved to be a better person than the one who quashed all moral qualms in the face of his father's determination. He deserved to be a better person than the one who followed others into committing atrocities, when he could have stood aside and refused to participate.

He should not have been surprised at what was happening now, at that. It was strange, how the third generation of the House of Fëanor always proved more courageous than the second.

The Sons of Fëanor and their followings, what was left of them, were camped outside of Menegroth. That they had not yet been set upon by the Iathrim only proved how devastated Doriath had been by their recent conflicts with the Kasari. The Iathrim seemed unwilling to risk the loss of soldiers and warriors by setting upon them in some attempt at an ambush. They seemed unwilling even to risk sending out scouts to get an estimate of how many Noldor there were on their doorsteps. Instead, Dior seemed determined to rely on the thickness of the doors of Menegroth to protect his people. Maglor would have told him not to set store by doors, even doors as thick and mighty as these, but Dior could not hear him, and he had something else occupying his thoughts.

Why, _why_ had he expected Gil-Galad to not protest the prospect of a second Kinslaying? Why had Maglor not expected his son, the one he had always raised not to view attacks of Quendi on Quendi as anything resembling justice, to protest this?

When Curufin and Celegorm allowed Finrod to die, Celebrimbor had repudiated his father and his house in disgust. No one had expected it. Celebrimbor was a gentle boy who rarely argued with anyone, and moreover, he seemed to adore his father; no one had expected Celebrimbor to defy Curufin's wishes, let alone to go so far as disowning his entire house. Now, it seemed that Gil-Galad would be doing the same.

Maglor didn't look at him as he left. He sat on a rock, nursing his head in his hands. He shut his eyes, but could not shut his ears.

"I wish you weren't doing this," Ilmanis softly said to their son, sadness barely seeping into her otherwise toneless voice. Their son, whom Maglor had named partly for the Sindarin version of her name that Ilmanis had never fully accepted, she had always adored their son. When nothing else seemed to overcome the chill that had settled on her heart, Gil-Galad brought a smile to her pallid, expressionless face. It would hurt her like a blade driven into her flesh to watch him leave, and yet, he would not be moved even for her.

"You know I can't do anything else, Mother," Gil-Galad replied, just as softly. Much more softly than how he had spoken to his father. "I swore no Oath, and I refuse to be a party to this. It's just a jewel." Maglor's back stiffened, but he did not interject. "It's not worth soaking our hands with the blood of our people. You should come with me," he went on, and there was a tense note in his voice like a harp strung too tightly. "You've sworn no Oath, Mother. Please, come away with me, before the battle begins."

"I can't do that," she immediately told him, and her voice was like the voice of one who knew that she was walking towards her own damnation. "I swore no Oath towards reclaiming the Silmaril, but there are other oaths that can find themselves just as binding. Even if," her tone grew harder, and Maglor imagined that she was cutting Gil-Galad off before he could protest, "it means drenching my hands in blood."

There was a long pause, and the sound of rustling cloaks and metal clinking against metal. Mother and son might have shared an embrace before Gil-Galad mounted his horse, and left.

Maglor did not lift his head out of his face until he was long gone.

Later, Curufin ventured into the tent that Maglor shared with his family, and his face crumpled, quietly and only for a moment, when he saw that there was someone missing. "The boy's gone?" he asked, distant pity flavoring his flat words.

Maglor nodded silently.

Curufin sighed heavily. "I was afraid of that." He leaned over and patted his brother's shoulder awkwardly. "We'll talk later," he promised, more earnestly than Maglor had heard him since the days when the sky was drenched gold and silver.

-0-0-0-

Artanáro Gil-Galad, called Ereinion by his cousin, Celebrimbor, made a point of never singing or making music. He could play the harp, as both his parents had been able to, and he could sing nearly as well as his father, though he had none of the power in his voice that Maglor was reputed to have had before the Oath and the Exile brought all to ruin and desolation. But once Beleriand was sunk, once he ruled over the Noldor in Lindon, Gil-Galad never let on that he was anything resembling a skilled musician or singer.

Celebrimbor always warned him not to do anything that would draw attention to his ancestry. _"I know it's difficult, cousin, but you must not do anything that would draw a comparison between yourself and your father. As you repudiated your house, the Edhil are willing to forgive you your ancestry, but let's not strain the bounds of their forgiveness," _he said with a weak, unhappily twitching smile.

It seemed that Gil-Galad needed to be forgiven for his blood.

He was not sure that he would ever know what to feel about either of his parents. Ilmanis, Gildis for whom he was named, died in the sack of Menegroth, and when she was remembered at all, she was remembered as nothing but a Kinslayer. She was such a private person that few had been privy to her softer characteristics. Maglor's history was a confusing mix of vile and merciful acts that coalesced to form a person no less confusing than the acts he had committed. He loved them still, but was reviled by the things they had done. He wished to honor them as his parents, but knew that he could not honor Kinslayers.

So he did not sing, and neither did he make music.

**IV.**

He remembered Mother often going outside of the fortress, even after the Bragollach when she really should have stayed inside. No one ever had to guess what Amarië was going outside for, even Gil-Galad, as young as he was. He'd followed her a few times, and he knew what his mother did when she went outside of Nargothrond. She would sit among the rocks and the trees, and Amarië, wife of Finrod, he who was King in Nargothrond, would stare west.

"_It is my greatest regret that you would have to be born in this blighted time, under the light of Rána and Vása in place of Silpion and Malinalda, my greatest regret that you would be born east of the sea, in Endóre and not in blessed Aman."_

Gil-Galad's mother was a bit different from everyone else around him. She wore different-looking clothes, wearing scarves over her hair and loose-fitting, sleeveless gowns instead of the high-collared gowns of the Noldor, the flowing dresses of the Sindar, or the amalgamation of the two that was often employed in Nargothrond. When asked, she told him that this was how nissi had worn their clothes in Taniquetil, where she came from, and she would not do her people the disrespect of putting aside their customs. Every day, Amarië taught her son something new about the history of her people, _his _people through her, be it the simplest hymn to Varda that a child learned or the histories of Cuiviénen that she had learned from her teachers and her grandfather.

Sometimes, Mother's insistence on being different caused her difficulties. She insisted on always using Quenya in her daily speech (unless those she was speaking to did not understand the language, when she would instead reluctantly put her cradle tongue aside and speak Sindarin instead), despite the fact that the King of Doriath, whom Gil-Galad had apparently actually met as a baby, had issued a ban forbidding everyone from using it. Amarië claimed that she was exempt on account of being a Vanya without a drop of Noldorin blood in her veins, and Gil-Galad guessed that it meant something that Finrod never contested that. But there were plenty of people who seemed to think that she should have been speaking Sindarin anyways, just like there were plenty of people who, when in court, refused to speak to, look at, or even _acknowledge the presence_ of the Queen of Nargothrond.

When he asked her, Gil-Galad's mother told him that her language was precious to her, as much a part of her as her soul, and she would never let anyone pressure her into giving it up. "_Even if I am shunned by the whole world, I will never give it up." _Her eyes gleamed, hard and bright. _"I will never let some Moriquendë—" _Gil-Galad had frowned at this; 'Moriquendë' was a rude word that his father and Cousin Finduilas had repeatedly told him never to say_ "—tell me what words should be coming out of my mouth._"

She was different, sometimes shunned, and always rather bitter and sad, missing Taniquetil, missing her family and the friends she had left behind in Aman. Gil-Galad loved his mother, but whenever he spent time with her, he came away feeling a little sad too. It was probably no secret to anyone as to why, as he grew a little older, he began spending more time with more cheerful people, like his father and his cousin Lady Finduilas, who had lived in Nargothrond since she was a little child while her parents held Minas Tirith.

But as the years went by, all the joy was sucked out of Nargothrond.

With the Bragollach, the feeling of relative safety that the residents of Nargothrond had felt during the centuries of the Siege of Angband was shattered. A pall of fear fell over Nargothrond, and when the Sons of Fëanor came to Nargothrond, a tense atmosphere of distrust and frustration settled in as well.

Then, the Man, Beren came, and demanded that Finrod make good on an oath he had sworn to Beren's father.

For the rest of his life, Gil-Galad would remember how his mother had raged when Beren revealed that Finrod had made an oath to Barahir. _"How could you be so foolish?!" _she demanded, all but screaming. _"Have you not seen where oaths lead the Noldor?!"_

"_He saved my life," _Finrod protested. "_I had to show some measure of gratitude, and what use would jewelry or treasure have been to a now-homeless exile?"_

"_Asides from being able to sell it for money they could have used to feed their families?" _Amarië retorted, thankfully more dryly than angrily. "_I'm amazed that Barahir did not do just that with your ring; he must have seen a great deal of value in your words. But Findaráto… How could you swear such an oath? Have you no thought for the well-being of our child?"_

"_Of course I do!" _he snapped, appalled, but for better or worse, Finrod could give no greater rebuttal than that.

Finrod left with Beren, and never returned. Though he had left his crown to his brother Orodreth, downgrading Gil-Galad to 'lord' and Amarië to 'lady' while Orodreth became 'king' and Finduilas became 'princess', for a time it was Celegorm and Curufin who ruled in Nargothrond. Then, Orodreth and Finduilas pushed them out, but only upon the new that Finrod, Gil-Galad's father, his kind, laughing father, was dead.

Gil-Galad never understood how anyone could sing such happy songs of Beren and Lúthien, so full of praise for their exploits, when it was their fault that his father was dead.

It seemed as though misery had taken a life of its own and was determined to infect all the residents of Nargothrond with its sorrow. Uncle Orodreth, never so cheerful a nér as Gil-Galad's father, was withdrawn and rarely ventured from his chambers once had settled his affairs for the day; Cousin Finduilas practically ran the court by herself. Celebrimbor, Gil-Galad's distant cousin, who had repudiated his house and remained in Nargothrond, rarely emerged from the forges or the apartments he shared with Gwindor and his father Guilin. Finduilas did not like Celebrimbor much, but Gil-Galad did, and he wished he could see him more often. Amarië never wept, but never did she laugh either, and she smiled but rarely.

Finduilas became engaged to Gwindor, and everyone was a little more cheerful for a time, in place of worry and sorrow and tense fear. There was a bounce in Finduilas's step that had not been there in a long time, and Orodreth's eyes were a little brighter. Gwindor persuaded Celebrimbor to come out of the forges for the betrothal feast, and as a gift to Finduilas Celebrimbor presented her with a necklace so fine that even she was happy with him being there.

Then, came the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

Very few from Nargothrond chose to participate in that battle. It was Celebrimbor's oldest uncle who proposed it, and though Maedhros had made restitution to Nargothrond over Finrod's death, there were few willing to cooperate with the House of Fëanor, even if it meant trying to defeat their shared Enemy.

Gwindor wished to ride into battle. He had lost his brother in the Bragollach, and his mother had been one of the ten who left with Finrod and Beren, only to perish in Sauron's dungeons. The Enemy and his ilk had taken much from Gwindor. Gil-Galad was almost frightened by the fearsome light that burned in Gwindor's eyes, when he spoke of doing battle. No one could talk him out of it, not even Finduilas or Guilin. Celebrimbor Gwindor talked _into_ it; they and a small group rode off to join Fingon's forces.

The battle was an unmitigated disaster. Hithlum and Himring were both lost; the Havens of the Falas were sacked. Fingon, the High King, was dead, and Turgon his brother had taken his crown and shut himself up in his secret city, never again intervening in the events of wider Beleriand. The strength of the Sons of Fëanor was irrevocably broken. The strength of the Noldor was irrevocably broken. Nargothrond shut itself up completely.

Celebrimbor never returned to Nargothrond, and Gil-Galad was disquieted to note that he was one of the only ones who cared. Gwindor did not return either. Gil-Galad learned the tale when survivors of the battle turned up in Nargothrond; his mother tried to usher him from the presence chamber, but eventually gave up and let him stay. They said that he had done battle on the steps of Angband itself, before being overcome and taken prisoner. It was unlikely that he would be seen again.

For a long time, Finduilas sat in cold, immovable silence, reminding Gil-Galad far too much of the way his mother had been since Finrod died. Was the world so cruel that it would take from her when she did not deserve to have anything stolen? He would sit beside her, wondering how to pierce her silence, what must have been her immense grief, and finding nothing.

Eventually, Finduilas shook off her apathy without anyone's help. Gil-Galad could see, though, that she had emerged a much harder person. Her already thoughtful gaze had become watchful and appraising. Her smile held the hint of steel, just as hard.

There were many who marveled that Finduilas could recognize Gwindor at all when, beyond all hope, he returned to Nargothrond. Gil-Galad was more surprised that Gwindor recognized Finduilas.

Gwindor returned, in the company of an Adan whom he vouched for. The Adan, rather strangely in Gil-Galad's opinion, named himself "Agarwaen, son of Úmarth." Bloodstained, son of Ill-Fate. Gil-Galad wondered at the sort of life the Adan must have led to call himself that. It mattered not anyways, as he was soon renamed Mormegil, the Black Sword.

Gwindor returned, but not unchanged. Gone was the hale and hearty nér Gil-Galad had known, gone was the jovial nér he had known. Gwindor's hardships in the mines of Angband had taken their toll. He had lost a hand in the course of his escape, and he now appeared as one of the aged among the Edain. His hair was thin and brittle and dish-water gray, his face graven with the lines of suffering. He walked with slow, ponderous steps. Even his own father had trouble recognizing him at first.

But the changes in his body were the least of it. Gwindor had become strange in mind. Gil-Galad and Finduilas went to visit him once, only to find him muttering in some harsh, guttural language that was horribly grating on the ears. Guilin would be trying to get his son to speak in Sindarin again, nearly crying in frustration and worry, only to be met with a glassy stare, and Finduilas would clap her hands over Gil-Galad's ears and steer him out of the chamber, sternly telling him not to breathe a word of what he had witnessed. Finduilas went back inside to help Guilin with Gwindor. Gil-Galad wasn't allowed to visit Gwindor again.

At times, it seemed that Gwindor barely seemed to know what to do with his survival. He wandered the halls of Nargothrond on unsteady feet, completely aimless, his eyes dull and downcast. Sometimes, Gil-Galad would walk beside him, but Gwindor's somber air only drove him away. Finduilas did the same, trying to inject cheer into a person who seemed only to reject it, but anyone, even Gil-Galad, could see how strained she was, and eventually, Finduilas turned away from Gwindor.

Finduilas turned her attention to where the attention of everyone in Nargothrond seemed to reside. Gil-Galad's experience of Mormegil was of someone very distant and stern, but also kind. He reminded Gil-Galad of Celebrimbor, except that Celebrimbor had smiled more and frowned less. Sometimes, when Gil-Galad would return to the apartments he shared with his mother, he would find Mormegil there, speaking with his mother. They spoke to one another often; Mormegil was very solicitous of Amarië, something that pleased Gil-Galad. The Adan also visited Gwindor fairly often. The two did not see eye to eye on what needed to be done to keep Nargothrond safe (all part of discussions Gil-Galad wasn't allowed to be a part of on account of his age), but they counted each other close friends, nonetheless.

But it was Finduilas whom Mormegil sought out most often. They would talk to one another about anything; this much, Gil-Galad had learned by accompanying them. They would speak of the wide world and happier times. Finduilas would speak of all she had been told of Aman, and Mormegil would mutter against the Valar until Finduilas bumped up against him and gently rebuked him for speaking thus. Her smile took the sting out of any rebuke, and she was the only one who could make Mormegil smile to be rebuked.

One day, Gil-Galad came upon them kissing in a deserted corridor*. He found himself torn between feeling sorry for Gwindor, and being relieved that Finduilas wasn't going to marry him when the years had proved that love was not sufficient to overcome the torments of Angband, not for them.

It couldn't last.

"Stay close to me!" Finduilas snapped at him. "We're just going to get your mother, and then we're leaving with the rest of the evacuation."

Nargothrond was going to go up in flames any time now. Orodreth had been persuaded to lead an army in battle against the forces of the Enemy directly, and as some had predicted, it had ended badly. That meant little to Gil-Galad except that it meant that he was about to lose his home, and probably his life as well if they were captured—he doubted that Orcs had much use for half-grown children—so perhaps it actually meant everything, and he simply couldn't grasp it yet. His blood was rushing in his ears and his heart was pounding in his throat in panic; that would have to be enough for now.

Finduilas reached the door to Gil-Galad and Amarië's living quarters and pushed it open, but she did not rush in like Gil-Galad expected her to. Instead, she paused in the doorway, and her face was white as death.

She slammed the door shut, grabbed Gil-Galad's arm and started to run down the corridor towards the evacuation route.

"But what about Mother?!" Gil-Galad protested, trying in vain to shake off Finduilas's vice-like grip on his arm.

"I just remembered," Finduilas replied without looking at him. "She went ahead to help with the evacuation."

It was a lie.

It had to be. At every point of the journey on the way to Balar, Gil-Galad did not see his mother anywhere.

He would not weep, though. His mother had never wept, not even when his father died. He would be strong like his mother. He would have to be strong like her.

**V.**

Gil-Galad had become accustomed to spending his life balancing out different truths and the different parts of himself.

He did not remember his father. This was only to be expected, as he had only been a baby when his father died. After the Second Kinslaying, Gil-Galad's mother had taken him back to live among her people, in the forests of Ossiriand. There, Gil-Galad grew to adulthood, fighting in the War of Wrath until the foundering of Beleriand on their very doorsteps forced them to retreat into Eriador. He dwelled among the Nandor, knowing more of the trees and the people who lived there than those he now ruled over. He dwelled among a people who had a very different perception of Kinslaying than the Noldor of the Sindar, and Gil-Galad learned early to keep his mouth shut when the matter was brought up to him.

Upon meeting him, Círdan had remarked to the young king that it was fortunate that he did not resemble his father, Gil-Galad having been born with his mother's silver hair and milky skin. That was just another thing Gil-Galad would have to get used to, something that both Celebrimbor and Elrond had warned him about.

"_Everyone is going to be watching you, and the moment you show any sign of having your father's temper…"_

Learning to shelve his frustration would have to be another thing that he balanced with his memories, it seemed.

Gil-Galad did not remember his father. Caranthir had died when he was just a baby. He had had uncles still living when his father died; however, they never visited, and he learned nothing of his father from them. But just because Caranthir was dead and Gil-Galad had never known him, did not mean that he did not know _of _him.

The tales of the wide world regarding Caranthir Fëanor's son stripped him of all complexity. No one cared a whit about Caranthir except to say that he was the quickest of his house to anger. He was a violent nér and he had a horrible temper; there was nothing else that needed to be said of him. He had met a gruesome end in the halls of Menegroth, and deserved it.

There were precious few who were willing to speak well of the House of Fëanor, or were willing to be seen speaking well of them, even (or perhaps especially) those who had served them in the First Age. Speaking well of the House of Fëanor won you no friends these days. Being seen to be associated with them won you no friends. Celebrimbor was supposed to greatly resemble his father, and seeing the subtle (or sometimes not-so-subtle) ostracism with which he was treated, Gil-Galad supposed that it was indeed a good thing that he threw more to Gladhrien than Caranthir.

And Gil-Galad did indeed get the impression that he was being watched, more so than would be considered normal. He too was being watched for any signs of sympathizing with the House of Fëanor. One some level, he understood it—his father and his uncles had caused so much pain and grief—but on another, it frustrated Gil-Galad, how few people considered it acceptable for him to think well of his father.

Galadriel was one of the few who said otherwise. Gil-Galad was not sure why, when it did not seem that she had liked his father much at all. Perhaps she had simply taken pity on him, except that Galadriel didn't strike Gil-Galad as the sort of person to do that either. She said that Caranthir's ill temper was not all there was to him, as though Gil-Galad had never known that and she was the first to say so.

Gil-Galad had already known that he must balance two wildly disparate lines concerning his father. He had known that ever since he came to live among the Noldor.

Though Gil-Galad never knew his father or, apart from his cousin, his father's family, his mother kept him alive in her stories. Gladhrien never touched on her husband's temper. He had never been impatient with her, after all, and would surely have never been impatient with his son either if he had lived to raise him. Gladhrien always assured her son that his father had adored him, and that his love would not have waned any as his son grew.

When Gladhrien spoke of Caranthir, she spoke of his efforts to learn Nandorin so that they could converse more easily. She spoke of how kind and gentle he had been with his hounds—so gentle, in fact, that he could not use them for hunting and instead kept them only as pets. She spoke of his shock and sorrow to learn, after the Nirnaeth, that Fingon was dead. There was no mention of his apparently violent temper.

Gil-Galad would balance these two disparate images of his father the way he balanced being both a Noldo and a Laegel, one of the Lindi. He already balanced his love of craftsmanship and the work of his hands with the longing to live under the trees and the stars, away from cities of stone that had no life and felt hard and hot under his feet. He already made strives to speak Sindarin and Quenya when Nandorin rolled more naturally off of his tongue. He was careful not to show too much favoritism to the Nandor, even when Oropher and Amdír tried to presume upon his—quite distant at best—kin relationship to him in order to improve relations between their people and the Noldor, usually at the ultimate expense of the Noldor, too.

If he could find a way to reconcile being both a Noldo and a member of the Lindi, Gil-Galad suspected that he could find a way to reconcile everything his mother had told him of his father, and what the world told him of Caranthir.

**VI.**

Celebrimbor and his brother's chamber shared a wall with their father and Celegorm's. Even with Huan gone and the hound's keen ears lost to Curufin and Celegorm's service, he was going to have to be quiet as he went about packing. He already knew to pack light; he didn't think that being quiet would be too difficult.

Now if only he could find some way to make it easy in his heart.

News had come to Nargothrond that Finrod Felagund and the ten who had accompanied him and Beren to attempt to reclaim a Silmaril were all dead. As the result of Curufin and Celegorm's machinations, Finrod was dead. When Celebrimbor heard the news, though all who were around him looked upon him with anger and suspicion, he felt sick. Finrod had been like an uncle to him. Curufin and Celegorm had been his _friends_, once; how could they have forgotten that friendship so thoroughly as to send him to his death?

How could they sink so low to do everything that they had done since Beren appeared in Nargothrond?

Celebrimbor remembered his mother warning him, in private, never to take the Oath that his father and his uncles and grandfather had sworn. Though she had always tasked him also not to reveal to anyone that they'd had these discussions, he had no reason to doubt her sincerity. _"That Oath will drive you to terrible lengths if you swear it, Telperinquar. It will compel you to commit atrocities in order to soothe its screaming. It may come to devour your very soul. Never bind yourself in such a way."_

There were no words for how much Celebrimbor wanted to be able to attribute all of how his father had been behaving to the Oath. He would have loved to place all responsibility and blame on the Oath to reclaim the Silmarils at any costs that his father had sworn when Celebrimbor himself had been just a toddler. He wanted some, _any _explanation for why Curufin was behaving so despicably that could remove some of the blame from his shoulders. Anything to let him believe that his father and uncle had only held Lúthien against her will and sent Finrod to his death because they had no other choice.

But that couldn't be true, could it? Even if the Oath bound them, they did not have to behave the way they could. Celebrimbor bore Elu Thingol no love (and he suspected that it was the same for the other survivors of Himlad, Dorthonion, Minas Tirith, Thargelion and the Gap), but even he would admit that it would have been better for Celegorm and Curufin to cooperate with Finrod and Beren. Why could they have not shelved their grudge and given aid, rather than persuading nearly everyone in Nargothrond not to help at all. They could have tried to negotiate to get the Silmaril away from Thingol later. They didn't have to sabotage Finrod and Beren's attempt.

They didn't have to act this way. Celebrimbor's father didn't have to act this way.

Gwindor had warned Celebrimbor that Finduilas had told him that her father was planning on banishing Celegorm, Curufin, and anyone in their following from Nargothrond. Briefly, Celebrimbor wondered bitterly if Orodreth was trying to put away memory of the fact that he himself had been cowed by his cousins' words, and that he had not encouraged anyone under his own command to follow Finrod, but he paused when Gwindor mentioned that Orodreth was hesitant to do so.

"_Why?"_

"_Finduilas said that the King was concerned for the fates of some of the children in your father and uncle's followings if he was to cast them out. It _is _a long way between here and where your father's house holds sway, Celebrimbor."_

Celebrimbor would have gladly repudiated his house, if only to distance himself from his father's deeds. But Gwindor's response troubled him, and put him in mind of a new plan.

He would not be surprised if it was for his brother's sake that Orodreth was hesitating. A small few children had survived the fall of Himlad and the perilous journey to Nargothrond, but Curufin's second son had been by far the youngest, cradled against his father's chest the whole time. There were plenty who could send innocent people to die if they were but faceless and unknown to them. There were considerably fewer who could send an innocent out to die if they were known to them and shared the same blood. Especially if that innocent happened to be a small child.

Celebrimbor would have gladly repudiated his house and remained in Nargothrond (if Orodreth would even have him), but that could not be considered as an option. There was no way he could convince or cajole Curufin to allow his small son, who had not yet reached his majority and was still trying to grasp the finer points of literacy, to stay, whether he rejected his father or not.

Curufin had never forced Celebrimbor to take the Oath, but he had become a stranger in his eyes, and Celebrimbor did not know if the same would be true with his brother. He could not allow his brother to be raised among his family. He could not risk his brother being forced to swear Fëanor's Oath. He could not.

"Ereinion?"

The little boy blinked his sleepy eyes and stared up at his brother. Celebrimbor smiled shakily down at him, running a hand through hair that was brown and coarse like their mother's had been. "Come, little brother, get dressed. You and I are going away for a while."

And who knew when they would at last return?

**VII.**

Aredhel's plan had been to stop in Himlad long enough to pick up horses and, at long last, have the relieved pleasure of being able to show some of her family that she wasn't dead, before moving on to Gondolin. Maeglin had, of course, pointed out that Eöl wasn't due to be back from his visiting with the Kasari for weeks yet, but Aredhel knew better than to believe all would go as it was supposed to when it came to Eöl. She was still reeling in disbelief that, after all this time, she was free again and she was feeling the sunlight touch her skin (and that Maeglin had somehow known how to navigate his father's barriers) to risk it all with delays.

But Celegorm had suggested that she should probably stop by Himring to let Maedhros know that she was alright. "After all the time he spent herding all of us around as children, don't you think that he would wish to see you well?" Maeglin's eyes lit up at the thought of meeting yet more of his mother's family, and after so long spent in near-total isolation, Aredhel found herself longing to see more of her kin again as well. Though she was seeking Gondolin for the safety it provided, and the brother and niece she had left behind, who knew when she would ever be able to see the rest of her family again, once she returned there?

So they rode north to Himring.

Aredhel could never remember Maedhros looking shocked. There were plenty who were more skilled than he at schooling their emotions and keeping them from showing on their faces, but he was markedly proficient at keeping from looking surprised. The most she ever remembered him showing of the emotion was when he would raise his eyebrows and a furrowed line would appear between them. She remembered this quite well as his response to whatever mischief she and Celegorm (and Finrod, or Caranthir, or Aegnor, or whomever they or she happened to be playing with at the time) had gotten into in Aman that could elicit such a response.

Though surely Celegorm or Curufin must have sent word, Maedhros gaped in shock when, after appearing on his doorstep, Aredhel and Maeglin were conducted into what Aredhel could only assume was his study; she had never been to Himring before. He had gaped in shock, but then he had stood up and folded them both in a massive hug. Aredhel blinked, surprised for a moment, but then she smiled and leaned against his chest. She felt safe. It was the first time she had felt safe in many a year.

They tarried in Himring for a month, and a far happier month it was than Aredhel could remember having in a long time. Maeglin was happier than Aredhel thought she had ever seen him, to be among his kin, to be under the open sky and not bound to a dark, silent forest, ever treading lightly around their lord. Aredhel and Maedhros counted themselves happy as well, and if unspoiled happiness was a thing that the Exiles rarely found and soon lost, then it was all the more treasured for being so elusive.

Aredhel never saw her husband again, and never learned what became of him. There was perhaps something in the stiff way that Celegorm walked when Aredhel and Maeglin finally set out for Gondolin, but she did not question it, and did not wish to. Any pangs of conscience she might have felt at the possibility of his death was quashed when she thought that, at least now, she knew that he would not track her down and drag her back to Nan Elmoth.

Nearly a year after Aredhel Ar-Feiniel's return, she gave birth to her second son.

Sometimes, she felt uneasy when she watched her brother playing with his youngest nephew. After some initial questioning, Turgon never asked her about her husband again; he had encountered Aredhel's silence on the subject and seemed reluctant to uncover anything more about the more than eighty years that his sister had seemed to be lost to him. He treated Maeglin and little Artanáro both like they were his own sons, but sometimes Aredhel wondered if he would have been so accepting, if he had known who her second child's father was.** She was fortunate, that both of her sons threw so strongly to her.

**VIII.**

When Gil-Galad was a child, his parents would take him to certain small communities in Dorthonion where there were children like him. Everyone made a great deal of fuss over his father having married an Adaneth, a mortal woman who would surely die within a few decades, but as Aegnor always reassured his son, he was not alone in the world.

It was strange, how reassuring a simple thing as knowing that there were other people like him could be.

For apart from the other Peredhil children, Gil-Galad was quite alone. Aegnor was the only nér of the Noldorin princes, indeed, the only nér of the Noldorin upper class as a whole to take a mortal woman as his wife. There were many who contested Gil-Galad's status over that, whether he should be considered a prince of the Noldor or even a legitimate-born child. There were many who looked in scorn upon what was apparently considered to be Gil-Galad's distinctly human features. Gil-Galad could not tell what they meant; he had looked over himself in a mirror for nearly an hour one day and found nothing that could be what they spoke of. Quendi and Edain features were not all that different. Gil-Galad looked like any other child of the Quendi.

His family seemed to be of two minds about him. Cousin Fingon and Aunt Galadriel were alright. Fingon could not be away from Dor-lómin often, but Galadriel often journeyed from Doriath to speak with Andreth; the two were, if not friends, then fellow intellectuals who enjoyed debating theology. Uncle Angrod was alright as well; he lived with Gil-Galad's parents, and was always kind to him.

Uncle Orodreth was a bit standoffish, though Aegnor assured Gil-Galad that he was standoffish with everyone. Cousin Finduilas in Nargothrond was rather standoffish too, though Gil-Galad got the impression that this wasn't as usual for her as it was for Orodreth.

Finrod didn't seem to know what to do with his nephew at all. Gil-Galad had learned (from a conversation that he was quite certain he hadn't been meant to hear) that Finrod hadn't wanted his parents to get married; Andreth didn't much care for him, and Aegnor was not on as good terms with his brother as he used to be. Finrod stared at Gil-Galad with troubled eyes, and the boy could never claim to be entirely comfortable in his uncle's company.

_Gil-Galad had heard that Finrod was very wise. So wise, in fact, that he could probably answer the question that had been nagging at him ever since he had learned of the differing fates of Quendi and Edain souls. Therefore, Gil-Galad put aside his discomfort with Finrod, and asked, "Uncle, where am I going to go when I die?"_

_Finrod looked as though a spirit had come up to his ear and whispered to him the exact time and manner of his death. He stared, shocked, down at Gil-Galad. "Why do you wish to know?" he inquired feebly, and even Gil-Galad, young as he was, could tell that he wished to evade this line of questioning._

_Gil-Galad shrugged. "I heard that Quendi souls are bound to the earth; Quendi stay here even after we die. But the Edain go somewhere else; we go beyond the world. I…" He stared off to the side, not meeting his uncle's gaze. "…I don't know what's going to happen to me. I'm a Quendë, but I'm an Adan too. I can't both stay in the world and go beyond it. So do you know where I'm going to go?"_

_Finrod's brow furrowed deeply. His eyes were troubled, as he said, "I… I really don't know, Gil-Galad."_

Andreth took him to the town in Ladros where she had grown up quite often. Great-aunt Adanel treated him just like any other child in her family, and the same went for Gil-Galad's maternal grandparents. Uncle Bregor and Aunt Beril were just the same; Gil-Galad was just like any other normal Adan child to them.

Bregor's children and Beril's, though, were another matter entirely. They stood in sometimes fearful awe of their half-Quendë cousin. Where the Quendi saw Edain features in Gil-Galad where he could not see any, his Edain cousins saw Quendi features in him where Gil-Galad could not see what made him really so outstandingly different from the Edain.

"_Many of my people have taken you for a changeling, or some such thing as that," _Andreth explained, in the sort of irritated tone of voice that Gil-Galad was familiar with: she wasn't irritated with him, but with the circumstances that caused many of the Edain to believe thus of Gil-Galad. Gil-Galad nodded, troubled by her explanation. His mother had told him what a changeling was, and that there were many among the Edain who half-suspected the Quendi of being child-snatchers. They suspected that Andreth's perfectly normal Adan baby had been replaced by a Quendë changeling. It didn't make much sense, considering that Andreth's husband _was _a Quendë and it was only natural that her child would have Quendi blood.

Andreth imparted much of the lore of the Edain on her son; in fact, Gil-Galad found that he rather preferred the stories and tales of the Edain to those of the Quendi. Gil-Galad could not see the Valar's hand in Ennor any more than his mother could. He did not see Ulmo or his Maiar in the waters; he did not hear Oromë's hunting horn in the howling winds. The Enemy was a Vala; Gil-Galad knew that. But the Enemy's erstwhile kin expended no effort to curb his destruction. Gil-Galad did not doubt his father's words, and knew that the Valar existed, but he had little doubt that the Exiles had been abandoned by the Valar, and that the Valar had never cared for the Edain to begin with.

As the years passed, Gil-Galad watched his mother change before his eyes. From the strong, able-bodied woman she was in her youth, she grew frail and listless. Her dark hair gathered gray; her bright brown eyes continued to dull. Her sharp features faded into softness and heavy lines around her mouth. Gil-Galad was still growing to adulthood as this happened. He wondered, in dark, shadowed places, whether this would happen to him. The other Peredhil children were still growing, just like Gil-Galad, and it seemed reasonable to assume that they would age more slowly than the Edain. But would he grow old and frail like his mother? Would he look at a staircase with trepidation and need someone to lean on the way Andreth leaned on Aegnor?

He loved his mother, and did not wish to watch her die.

He loved his father, and did not wish to leave him alone.

"As you know, Elros, my father was slain in the Dagor Bragollach. As for what became of my mother, she… she had an accident, as we were traveling to the Havens." She had fallen from her horse and broke her neck. Andreth had always been wary of horses, and had rarely rode them even as a young woman. As an elderly woman, she was ill at ease in the saddle and her weak hands couldn't grasp properly at the reins. "After that, I began feeling what I can only describe a strange compulsion. I was being compelled to choose whether I wished to live as a Quendë or as one of the Edain."

"That's not how it was with me," Elros admitted, and Gil-Galad smiled.

"No, Elros I know it was not that way with you. Trust me, I could not possibly _forget_ the day you were called upon to choose." Gil-Galad smirked, and though many thought that his sharp smirk must have belonged to Aegnor, he would tell any Quendë who asked that his mother had smirked in just such a fashion, to watch them squirm. "Are you still happy with your choice?" he asked, more gently this time.

Elros smiled, and it was the smile of the content. "Yes," he asserted. "I always will be."

The last of the ships to Elenna were leaving today. All that remained was for their king to mount his ship, and lead the way to their new land. As Elros began to walk up the gangplank, Gil-Galad called out to him "May the Star-guider light your path."

The Star-guider was a facet of old Edain legends before the Quendi (forcibly) introduced them to the Valar and their own concepts of religion and theology. The Star-guider was not Elbereth, though there had been Quendi who would tell the Edain, over and over again, that Elbereth had revealed herself to them and the Star-guider was how they interpreted her. The Star-guider was a spirit who arranged the stars in the sky in her web, carefully spinning the paths the stars would tread so that they never wandered and grew lost in the vast sky.

Gil-Galad had no idea if Elros was familiar with that legend. For all that he was a Peredhel who, after lengthy time among the Edain chose the fate of Men, he had been raised by the Quendi, and might not have known the Edain's tales. He might have thought that Gil-Galad was indeed referring to Elbereth. But Elros smiled again and waved as he boarded his ship, and Gil-Galad was indeed sure that the Star-guider or Eärendil would guide Elros on his path west.

**IX.**

From the moment he was born, Dúlinnil knew that her son would never inherit anything.

The customs of the Noldor strongly advised against remarrying after a spouse's death, even in Beleriand where it was accepted that the living among the Exiles would never see their dead again. Were not two Quendi bound in matrimony bound to one another until the breaking of the world? Never mind that the High King had only been born because Finwë had been willing to seek out a second wife after his first perished. Never mind that though the Iathrim remarried but rarely they never brandished any social stigma against those who did; never mind that the Mithrim Sindar and the Falathrim and Laiquendi remarried more often than the Iathrim, and that sometimes living couples even separated and found new spouses.

And heaven forbid that someone sought out another while their spouse was still alive. Even if that spouse had stayed behind in Aman, there would be trouble, especially if the one who took a lover was often in the public eye.

But there was a problem to this, of course. Those who were married but, either due to separation or death, separated from their spouses, they still yearned for companionship. They still longed to feel the warmth of love, even when their love was gone from them. All social convention said that it was wrong for a Noldo to take a second spouse, or a lover, but the knowledge that it was "wrong" did not erase that yearning.

Dúlinnil was grateful, at least, that Fingolfin had been subtle about this, grateful that he had always encouraged her to be subtle.

The family noticed. Fingon was polite to her, but his politeness was markedly awkward and he did not speak to her any more than was necessary. Lalwen pointedly ignored her whenever she and Dúlinnil had occasion to be in proximity with one another, something that Dúlinnil could not help but feel hurt by; she had thought of Lalwen as the sort of nís who could have been a friend to her. Turgon and Aredhel were long gone, but when they had been here, they had followed their aunt's example, and with twice the coldness Lalwen exhibited. Idril, when she was here, had not been aware of Dúlinnil's role in her grandfather's household, but seemed to sense from her father, aunt, and great-aunt's coldness that Dúlinnil was someone to be avoided.

At least they had not piled the blame entirely on Dúlinnil's shoulders. She remembered Fingolfin's sister and two younger surviving children as being markedly exasperated with him when the exact nature of Dúlinnil and Fingolfin's relationship came to light. That was something to be thankful for, at least, that even if Princess Lalwen averted her eyes from her brother's lover the way one averted their eyes from a harlot, that she was not the only one held at fault in this situation. That did not make it an easy thing to bear, though, especially when, slowly, very slowly, the truth began to dawn on the court as well. Where Fingolfin's family had been angry with him as well, the court was simply angry with Dúlinnil for "leading the High King astray."

Discovering herself to be with child had not made things any easier.

Fingolfin could not acknowledge Gil-Galad as his son. To do so would be to incite the wrath of his court and risk losing the respect of the Noldor at large, who would not be pleased to learn that their High King had forsaken his wife, even if she remained in Aman and he would likely never see her again. Fingon was friendly to the child, his brother, but he acted as though Gil-Galad was wholly Dúlinnil's son, and his father had nothing to do with the child. Lalwen refused to acknowledge the child's existence at all, and the way she ignored Dúlinnil became nearly as cold as her vanished niece and nephew's.

Dúlinnil wondered, sometimes, about Fingolfin's wife. She had never met Anairë; Dúlinnil was born in the first year of Vása, and had never known Aman or her lover's wife. All she knew of the lady was that she was a half-Vanya like Fingolfin, and that she was brown-haired and of average height. For all of Dúlinnil's curiosity, she did not think that asking Fingolfin about Anairë would yield much in the way of results.

What she knew in her heart, what she feared, was that if Fingolfin was ever offered the opportunity to return to Aman, he would return to Anairë's waiting arms and would forget that he had ever borne Dúlinnil any love. How could a child of the Exile compare to a Calaquendë? How could a lover compare to a wife? How could a child born out of wedlock who could never be a king or even a prince compare to his four legitimately born children?

For now, Dúlinnil would count her blessings and cherish her happiness. And though she knew that her son would never inherit anything, she looked at his tiny face, and imagined him king in Barad Eithel, king over the Noldor, and smiled.

**X.**

Círdan had never hidden from him the fact that he did not know who his parents were.

Gil-Galad was a child of the Exile. Moreover, he was a child of the Havens of the Falas before it was sacked. He was far from the only child who had lost their parents in the battle, but he was probably the most fortunate of them, in that he had been rescued and fostered by the lord of the Havens.

He had black hair, and gray eyes, light olive skin and angular features, all common among the Noldor. They could provide no hint as to Gil-Galad's parentage. Gil-Galad sometimes wished that he had some unusual feature, such as a sixth finger on his hands or red hair, until it occurred to him that the extra finger would get in the way and that red hair would almost certainly mark him of being of the line of Fëanor—he would win no friends for being visibly of that line.

Gil-Galad grew up the Noldorin foster-son of a Sindarin lord in a refugee camp on an island where pearls regularly washed up on the shores. It might have sounded romantic if not for how the latrine trenches stank and for the general pall of fear and misery that had befallen the island. Círdan didn't encourage him to indulge in romantic notions. _"It's good for taking your mind off of things, my son, but it won't keep you fed or safe. Now come along; didn't I promise to show you how to weave rope for the ships today?"_

Since Gil-Galad had early proven himself as being good at making things (Círdan always said, with an air of fondness rather than exasperation as he sometimes exhibited at dealing with the Noldor, that it was his parents' blood showing), Gil-Galad learned how to make anything he could. Rope for the ships that Círdan sailed, sails for them as well; Gil-Galad thought it no shameful thing to sit among the nissi and learn how to weave. He learned how to cut stone and wood, learned how to make houses and tents. From Celebrimbor and the other smiths (who were always pleased when someone came to them wanting to learn), he learned how to forge tools and swords for the refugees to defend themselves with.

He also learned how to make bridges.

And sometimes, at dusk, when no one needed him for anything, Gil-Galad would give himself over to romantic notions. He would stand on the shore that was littered with pearls that gleamed like a miniature set of stars, and stare east towards the mainland. Gil-Galad dreamed of the day when the Quendi could live free and happy once more, and thought of all he would have to do to make it so.

* * *

* I know that, in canon, Túrin did _not _return Finduilas's feelings. However, in this scenario, he's latched on to Amarië more as that person to be in awe of and draw comparisons between her and his mother (The fact that Amarië acts a lot like Morwen in this scenario helps). And though Gil-Galad doesn't realize it (Gil-Galad son of Finrod is not the most perceptive person where Túrin is concerned), Túrin has sort of latched on to him, golden-haired, half-grown child that he is, as someone who reminds him of Lalaith. Which leaves him to see Finduilas as Finduilas. (Your plausibility mileage may vary, of course.)

** This one was weird. I actually had a dream about this scenario once, which, at the risk of sounding redundant, is _really_ weird, considering I don't ship Aredhel and Maedhros together (And I don't even write Maedhros as being attracted to women). But I decided I would include it, because everyone loves a "weird Gil-Galad origin story." Right? Right? *Runs and hides*

Artanáro—Rodnor  
Findaráto—Finrod  
Telperinquar—Celebrimbor  
Elbereth—a Sindarin name of Varda

**Nís**—woman (plural: nissi)  
**Kasari**—a common name for the Dwarves among the Noldor, adapted from the Khuzdul _Khazâd_ (singular: Kasar) (Quenya)  
**Quendi**—Elves (singular: Quendë) (Quenya)  
**Edhil**—Elves (singular: Edhel) (Sindarin)  
**Rána**—the Exilic name for the Moon, signifying 'The Wanderer' (Quenya)  
**Vása**—the Exilic name for the Sun, signifying 'The Consumer' (Quenya)  
**Silpion**—'Shining Lights' a name of Telperion (Quenya)  
**Malinalda**—'Tree of Gold', a name of Laurelin (Quenya)  
**Endóre**—Middle-Earth (Quenya)  
**Moriquendë**—'Elf of Darkness', specifically an Elf born in Middle-Earth and who never saw the light of the Trees (plural: Moriquendi) (Quenya); technically, Thingol is not of the Moriquendi, having seen the Trees when he came over with Finwë and Ingwë, but Amarië, being very convinced of her own superiority, both as a Calaquendë and as a member of the only clan of the Elves whose full-blooded members made it to Aman in entirety, isn't too inclined to differentiate.  
**Nér**—man (plural: neri)  
**Adan**—a member of one of the three Houses of the Edain, those Men who fought on the side of the Valar in the War of Wrath (plural: Edain) (Sindarin)  
**Laegel**—a Green-Elf of Ossiriand, a member of that division of the Nandor who were led by Denethor (plural: Laegil) (class plural: Laegrim) (Sindarin); the name was imposed upon them by the Sindar, both because of the lush forests of their land and because the Laegrim often dressed in green as camouflage  
**Lindi**—the name by which many of the Green-Elves referred to themselves, adapted from 'Lindai', a form of the term 'Lindar', which many of the Teleri used to refer to themselves during the Great March from Cuiviénen, and the name that the Falmari still use to refer to themselves (Nandorin)  
**Adaneth**—a woman of the Edain (Sindarin)  
**Peredhil**—Half-Elven (singular: Peredhel) (Sindarin)  
**Ennor**—Middle-Earth (Sindarin)  
**Elenna**—'Starwards'; an early Quenya name of Númenor (Quenya)  
**Laiquendi**—the Green-Elves of Ossiriand, the division of the Nandor who followed Denethor (singular: Laiquendë) (Quenya)


End file.
